


We Want What We Want

by ninhursag



Series: Possessive Charms [3]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consent Issues, Cruelty, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Feral Behavior, Hurt Leonard Snart, Leonard Snart is Bad at Feelings, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Power Play, Protective Mick Rory, Rough Sex, Sara Lance is a mess, Scars, Submission, Trauma, undernegotiated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 10:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18808978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: Sara and Leonard continue down the rabbit hole. Sara keeps pushing when she really shouldn't, Len keeps going with it when he really needs to tap out and things very quickly start to spiral out of control.Mind the tags. The sex in the story is consensual, but there's long term trauma that makes the situation complicated.





	We Want What We Want

**Author's Note:**

> Contains: total lack of very necessary boundaries
> 
> Total lack of very necessary negotiation and conversation before engaging in the type of sex they do. 
> 
> Sex toys, fisting, handcuffs, humiliation fantasies galore
> 
> Heavily implied/referenced past physical, mental and sexual abuse that informs the present
> 
> People we like being awful to each other

Sara knew it was a mistake from the moment the idea struck her but it was so overpowering she couldn't let it go. The idea chased her in her dreams, tickled at her when Len was in her bed and made her squirm when he wasn't.

Amaya caught her once, concerned and soft with it, “what's going on, Sara? You're distracted.” And followed Sara's gaze to Leonard who was talking wiring with Jax and looking as relaxed as he got. Clever hands playing with the insides of a mocked up security device and walking through how to disable it, re-enable it and cover your tracks. Jax looked amused. Len looked pleased with himself, confident.

“I am,” Sara conceded. As if she could think about much other than wondering how it would feel to pin Leonard's hands down and make him try to disable the device without using them. He probably could. 

“He looks well, Sara. I don't think you need to worry,” Amaya said.

Sara shook her head. He did. For now. The problem was, she wasn't worried.

Mick stared at her balefully from across the room like he knew exactly what she was thinking. And hated her for it.

The idea wouldn't leave though.

She buried it doing other things. Putting him on his hands and knees and using a strap on on him. The way he took it, smooth and easy, smug, beautiful face pressed into her pillow.

“You love this,” she told him.

“Sure Killer,” he said and laughed when she slapped his ass, hard, open-handed. She stopped thrusting for a moment, admiring the hand prints, the shape of her fingers on his skin.

“Come on, Sara, don't leave me hanging here,” he hissed when she waited too long. Less passive, thrusting back at her, trying to get the length of the dildo inside.

Her eyes narrowed, “Oh, I'm sorry. Am I boring you? You wanna come already, Lenny?” She asked, too sweetly. His body went still. 

“Don't call me that, fuck, Sara,” he said into the pillow.

She ignored him, rubbing a soothing hand down the length of his spine, over the soft, threadbare cotton that covered him from neck to ass.

“How many times can you come? What's your record?” She asked, her voice wasn't kind.

He shivered. “I'm 43 not 19,” he muttered.

“Guess we'll see.” She slapped him again, harder. He went still with it. 

There were scars on his ass, raised and white, even against the red of her handprints. Some that had probably started out as welts others as open wounds. Erratic ones, possibly the buckle end of a belt. Frighteningly regular ones, in smooth even lines. A cane. She'd seen the marks of that before with the League. Way too precise to be Lewis’ handiwork.

The idea that she'd been trying to let go of seized her again. The want to see it happen, to see someone do that to him.

She shook herself. The game they were playing now wasn't that. “How many times until you beg me to stop?” She whispered in his ear, tongue on the shell of it. He shook his head silently.

He didn't beg. He did come. 

Once with her hand on his cock, the strapon buried deep in his ass. Again when she pulled it out and replaced it with her tongue. Tasting how open he was, lube slicked, now wet with his own come when she smeared it on him, into the skin under his balls, over the length of his cock.

Again when she urged him over, onto his back. Knees up and shaking, eyes squeezed closed and cheeks wet with tears and sweat. She pushed his knees open and up, rubbed her fingers around the swollen rim of his hole. The soft length of his cock, still smeared with semen around the head of it.

So oversensitive, he winced when she touched him there, one hand coming up, half defensively, as if to knock her away. She took it in hers and pressed it down against the pillow.

She paused then. “Again? Or should I stop? Is this too much for you, Lenny?” She whispered, dark and hungry still. “More than you can handle?”

He shook his head. “Fuck you,” he muttered, eyes still shut, still leaking tears. “I can take what you can bring.”

She grinned. Pushed a finger into him, slow but hard. He made another tortured sound. His cock twitched. “No, no, fuck you, sweetheart,” she whispered. “You're wet enough for it now.”

She added another finger, more lube on it, slick and cold and he hissed, one arm wrapped around his chest and the other over his face.

Another. Relentless when his narrow hips started to move, when she pressed against his prostate and he hissed like it hurt. Probably did.

Four, then, spread into him. Bigger than the strapon now. He took deep, slow breathes and she could just see that it hurt when she stroked his cock with her other hand, just to be touched, that it hurt to get hard, that he couldn't help it. 

“Ever been fisted?” She asked and he flushed so red she wondered if the answer was no and she was going to get an actual first out of him but then he nodded yes, silently, like if he opened his mouth he'd be screaming.

He did scream when she got her thumb into him. And he came, again, almost dry, bloody lipped, his nails tearing hard enough into his own skin to mark himself.

She touched his sweat slick shoulder and kissed his cheek, so gently, tasting his tears. His legs were open and his hole was so red, defenseless. It rocked her. Set her back on her heels in a way that even her own orgasm hadn't.

“I want you so much,” she said softly. “I have never wanted anyone this much.” And it was true. Nyssa, who she'd loved. Oliver. Others who didn't matter in the end. They didn't… they didn't do this to her. Make her want like this.

He looked at her-- those, wide blue, blue endless eyes-- and said, “I've never let anyone else do this to me. Ever.”

 

Mick caught up with her the next day when she was feeling satisfied and languid. 

When she'd seen the slight limp in Leonard's step, the little winces when he got himself coffee, the way he didn't sit down, just leaned against a counter, nonchalant, like he always ate his breakfast like that.

The way he flushed and looked away when she got close enough and then, with an effort that was obvious, made himself meet her eyes. She smiled at him and touched a finger to her mouth. He didn't look away, but his lashes veiled his eyes.

Mick, though, glared death at her. “Let's spar, Blondie.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Why? Feel like getting your ass kicked?”

“Feel like punching you in the face a few times,” he growled. “And they tell me this way is in the rules.”

“What are you talking about?” She frowned, hands on her hips.

“I can punch you now, if you don't want to wait.” His eyes were dark. Furious.

She shook her head. 

Ray and Amaya stumbled in, interrupting before it could get further. Before Leonard, who looked like he was gearing up to, could intervene. They were followed by an obviously underslept, over caffeinated Nate. But only Amaya seemed to pick up on the tension.

But she didn't say anything, just looked at the three of them with a frown that ended up focused on Sara. A head shake that screamed ‘fix this’.

“If I stepped over a line,” Sara asked Len over a round of gin. He was perched on his seat, not really sitting on it and she tried not to let that thought curl warm in her belly. The want to tell him to pull down his pants and bend over so she could see how sore he was, to see if he would do that just on her word. 

This wasn't about that, if this was… if she was… she stopped. “I stepped over a line,” she said instead. Factual this time. 

He frowned, looking down at his cards. “It was hot,” he said. “And I wasn't exactly begging you to stop.” A breathe and he met her eyes again. Not quite as frankly, steadily as he had the day before, but still. “I liked it.”

She swallowed. Reached out and took his hand. Watched the way he flinched and steadied himself, the routine of it. Her brain screamed at her. “Ok. But even if I didn't cross a line, I still don't know where the line is. You're going to have to help me with that.”

He sighed, looking put upon. Looking like himself. She felt a swallowing wave of relief when he rolled his eyes. “Relationship negotiations aren't exactly my speed. Maybe that makes me cold blooded, but you seem to like that.”

She snorted. Then more seriously, urgently still holding his hand. “But you'll tell me. If I ask you for something that's too much. Too far. You know that just because I ask for something, you don't have to do it.” 

She must have imagined the moment of surprise. Like he hadn't known that? But then-- “Sure,” he scoffed. “I will hold the line. No furries and don't even think about that adult baby crap. And your deep desire to dye my hair hot pink is right out.” 

That startled a laugh and an eyeroll out of her. So she let it go again.

 

The next time was nice. Vanilla, but laughing, his hands on her skin while he fucked her on his bed, slow and sweet and steady. His ardent mouth tasting so warm. She felt safe and close, listening to his heartbeat and his smile was so satisfied. Mick and Amaya were full of it, worrying. Nothing was wrong.

 

“I dream about you,” she told Len when they were in her bed the time after next. She had his hands cuffed to the headboard. Not the padded kind. Regulation police cuffs that would bite if you fought them.

He grinned at her, “well that's flattering. Tell me more?”

“Hurting you,” she said. “I dream about hurting you.”

His grin didn't waver. “Hmm you'll have to get in line. But don't worry, I can take my licks. How?”

“Not physically,” she said. She stroked the thin skin of his inner wrist. It was red from the cuffs, but not very. He wasn't fighting. “Not only physically.”

He made a soft, deep sound at the touch. 

“How?” He asked again. There was no drawl in his voice this time.

So she leaned in and whispered in his ear. He flinched away once the words were processed, the suggestion, wide eyed, jerking in the cuffs.

“Why?” He asked, head shaking. “Why would you want that? What did I do to make you want that?” She couldn't answer.

His cock hardened under her touch though, still, like the idea was seared into his brain now too. She swallowed at the response. He looked like he might cry and he still arched into her touch. He could break out of the cuffs if he wanted to, but he didn't.

“Leonard,” she said. “Stop or keep going? If you can't answer, it's stop.”

He shook his head. She pulled her hands away, shaking, turning to get the cuff keys. The faint whisper of, “no wait, keep going,” arrested her.

She touched his face with shaking hands. He blinked at her. He flinched when she kissed him, a light brush of lips. His wrists had to hurt. “You sure?”

“I'm not going to go all cold on you just because you shared an idea,” he said. She smiled a little and he smiled back. “Not the freeze and run type.”

“Oh I'd heat you up if you were, Captain Cold,” she said like this was a game and she wasn't shaking with how much she wanted him. That the hurt in his eyes at the very idea wasn't… didn't make this… more. Better.

He watched her, eyes hooded when she rolled a condom on him and climbed on. Kept still the way she held him and let her set the pace. Slow and steady as sank down and rolled up, feeling him in her.

Watched his face the whole time, rode him hard, until he came. His body trembled and his eyes were so blue.

His hands were out of the cuffs before she even thought to unlock them. The skin on his wrists was cut up, bleeding. She leaned down to kiss the inside of a wrist and he relaxed and let her.

“Mick-- well, Chronos. Did that,” he told her after, laying in her bed, knees to his chest, watching her. “I don't get the appeal, but it's not just you. Who wants to.”

Sara breathed. The words sounded almost like absolution the way he said them. She was so far off the reservation that she was getting absolution from what Chronos had done, like that was what she was ok being compared to.

“Ok,” she said carefully. She should be saying, never mind. She should be saying I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that happened to you, I'd never do that to you, I'd kill anyone who tried. The last part was even true. She just said, “Ok.”

He swallowed again, staring at his hands. Fingers circling wrists that wore livid bruises and cuts that she'd put on him. She was actually relieved. He was going to tell her to fuck off and she could relegate the fantasy to the darkest parts of her brain where it belonged. She should never have even brought it up.

She got ready to apologize for ever bringing it up.

Except he didn't tell her no. “Ok,” he told her. “You can't fuck around with younger me, if I agree to this. You can't-- you have to leave him alone,” he said a little too fast.

“Did Chronos do that too?” She asked. He looked away. Why the hell didn't he just tell her no?

“I plead the fifth, Officer Lance,” he said with the bark of a laugh. No humor in it.

“You forgave him for it.” 

He didn't say anything for a moment. Lips pursed tightly. “It's complicated. And I don't get it,” he finally said. “But if you want to, I'll agree to it.”

And that's not a yes, not the sort of yes that would actually green light a request like this, and she knew it. She knows that.

But it's like the haze of wanting is so tight around her she can't deny it. But if he would just say no… 

He didn't.

So they set it up. 1992, a sheriff's lock up out in the county. He would be young but not a kid. He didn't tell her exactly what happened there. Just a tight, ‘it's the kind of thing you said you wanted to see.’

There was an aberration in Keystone that was the cover. Rory and Amaya were on that one. Sara and Leonard had their own part.

“It was a Lewis job that bright me out here. I didn't do a lot of them by that point, but he'd get me when the court reviews of Lisa's custody arrangement came up. But that part I figured out. I found my own trouble.” He didn't look at her. 

She looked at him though. He was twitchy as hell, playing with a koosh ball he'd picked up at a gas station, squishing it between his fingers.

It was not exactly like being possessed. It was not like being drugged either. She felt like herself. She just couldn't seem to stop. It was like getting on the Gambit with Oliver, knowing exactly who she was betraying by fucking him, but worse.

She hadn't known what they were sailing into then. What would happen to Oliver, to her.

She knew, or as good as knew, what happened to Len here and now, in this place, and she needed to stop.

She looked at him and he was staring at his hands. His beautiful hands.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

He looked up, frowning. “Sara?” He asked.

“I'm sorry.” She shook her head. “I've lost my fucking mind. I have no excuse for this. I just-- let's just get out of here. I. I'm so sorry.”

He blinked at her, clearly bewildered. “I said we could. That you could. Why are you apologizing?”

She shook her head again. Grabbing him by the hand and tugging back to the car. He let her without fighting. He hadn't fought her once since they'd been trapped in the aberrant timeline. When he'd been fighting to protect her, not himself.

Hadn't fought her once when he thought it was the real her he was fighting. “I'm going to have Gideon check me again, when we get back,” she told him, urgent, fingers pressed against his. “She either missed something, or, it's something else. Triggered the bloodlust in me.”

He stopped. Eyes blank. Sat down heavily in the passenger seat. “What? You think-- what do you think is wrong?”

She laughed, too horrified to do anything else. She'd almost. She'd asked him to. He'd agreed to. Fuck. “All of it,” she managed to get out. “This. You. What I'm doing with you, to you. Jesus, Leonard, you can't think this is ok.”

He looked so stricken. Worse than when she hit him. Worse than when she'd suggested coming here to begin with. Eyes gone wide, hand rising to his mouth. “I,” he whispered. “I thought. I didn't. Sara, I'm sorry.”

She was just- “what?” She asked. “What do you think I'm telling you?”

His hands shook. “That something happened, influencing you. You didn't want. This.” His words came out, sudden frantic and she got it, vivid and clear and horrifying, where she'd pushed herself into the cracks of him. How perfectly she'd hurt him, along all the faultlines left by Lewis and Chronos and sordid sick things that had happened to him in places like this.

How he didn't even know he was supposed to blame her. “Me. You didn't want this. I should have known. I swear I'd never have touched you if I'd known.”

“No,” she said. “No that's not it. That's not it, Len.” And she couldn't say she was the one who should never have touched him because he wouldn't, couldn't understand. It would be a rejection. Of everything he'd so willingly, too willingly offered.

And oh fuck, she ached for him. 

She kissed him. She kissed him so gently, as gently as she could. “That's not it at all.”

“Then what?” He whispered, lips still brushing against hers. His body was trembling with tension. Fear.

She didn't know how to do this. “If you told me that you wanted to go back in time and see what happened to me on the Amazo, what Ivo did to me, and then you wanted to fuck me afterwards because you got off on seeing me like that and maybe--”

“No just stop, of course I wouldn't-- who would ever-” He pulled back and held up a hand. He looked sick. Sick at the thought. She should have been sick at the thought. He looked at her. “Oh,” he said. Blinked. “Oh. Right, but that's different. You were innocent. You didn't deserve it.” 

“You didn't deserve it,” she said, knowing it was futile, that he couldn't possibly hear that. Especially coming from her. Who'd treated him like he had. “There's something wrong with me. There's something wrong with anyone who-- I don't want to do this to you.”

They drove for a while. Stopped. She pulled over in a field, in the dark. There were fireflies. 

The haze, the hunger for him, for his destruction, it wasn't gone. She could feel it curling next to the bloodlust in her belly, intertwined. How much she wanted to take him apart.

But she held his hand and they sat on the hood of an old car in the middle of nowhere and watched fireflies.

“I don't know what to do,” he said, softly. 

She nodded. “Did you, Len, can you please, just not bullshit and tell me what parts of what we did you liked?”

He laughed and scrubbed his hand over his shorn head. The aching vulnerability of him was so much. More, weirdly, than a sword to his throat. Cuffs on his hands. More than her fist up inside him. She swallowed down the feeling. The urge to take take take, knowing it would all be given without any boundaries. When it shouldn't.

“I liked all of it, Sara,” he said, urgently, like in a confessional. “Have liked it. Not. Not today. But before, even the… the your fucking fist. It was. I liked it. It was too much, but I wanted it. Even today. I, maybe, I wanted a do over. Where I could have said no.”

Her heart hurt. “I liked it too.” 

“I don't want to stop,” he continued.

“I don't either,” she murmured. She lifted his hand in hers and brought it to her lips. That made him smile. Roll his eyes, but smile. “We're going to figure it out. I promise.”

He kissed her that time. Reaching out so carefully and tangling his hands in her hair.

**Author's Note:**

> There's one more planned after this but it should be less dark. It may also take a little longer to do but these things have just been spilling out of me.
> 
> Also they really do like each other, I swear. They are just fucked up.
> 
> You can find me @ https://ninhursag.dreamwidth.org/


End file.
